


Dragonkind

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Dragon!John [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Dragons, Gen, John is a dragon, Magical Realism, Secret Identity, everyone always underestimates John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing that made it so easy to hide was that everyone knew what dragons were supposed to be like. John heard people wonder about Sherlock sometimes, sending him slanting, speculative glances, as they questioned his lineage. But John Watson, who was steady, reliable, even-tempered? He slid right under their radar, just another average human being in a world full of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragonkind

**Dragonkind**

The thing that made it so easy to hide was that everyone knew what dragons were supposed to be like: hot-tempered, capricious, possessive and arrogant, full of aggressive confidence and disdain for mere humans.

For the most part, this stereotype was true, but it wasn’t always accurate. John heard people wonder about Sherlock sometimes, sending him slanting, speculative glances, as they questioned his lineage. But John Watson, who was steady, reliable, even-tempered? He slid right under their radar, just another average human being in a world full of them.

The fact that John had fought in a war, that he enjoyed the thrill of the chase and hung around with _Sherlock Holmes_ of all people ought to have been a clue that maybe he wasn’t all that he seemed. But then, as Sherlock was so fond of pointing out, people were dreadfully unobservant. Or as John’s favourite (draconic) cousin once said, “Human beings are thick.”

John himself had embraced the façade of humanity at an early age. As the only dragon in a family of humans, he’d soon learned that humans found dragons frightening and unnerving. He’d taught himself to smile like humans did, without all their teeth showing, to move like prey instead of like a predator, and over the years his fiery temper had slowly been brought under iron control. He’d learnt not to shift into his dragon shape except when he was where no one might see him, to behave like a human in every way that mattered. By the time he reached adulthood he found that he passed for human without any trouble, and embraced the pretence. Humans were more trusting around other humans than people they knew to be dragons, showing friendliness instead of fear and hostility. So John pretended, most of the time, and only let his true nature loose when the occasion really needed it.

He came back from Afghanistan limping and angry, with scarring right where his wing joined onto his shoulder, and a strong desire to set fire to everything surrounding him. He couldn’t fly properly, he couldn’t operate as a surgeon, the humans thought he was broken and useless, and deep down the restless fury of a clanless dragon roiled.

Meeting Sherlock Holmes had soothed that inner fire, giving John adventure and purpose. He delighted in the hunt for criminals, the rush of adrenalin and the roar of his predatory instincts, put to good use. And then there was Sherlock himself – he was swift and clever and ruthless, as arrogant and impatient as any dragon, all shining brilliance that left John fascinated and captivated. Dragons always liked brilliant, shining things, and Sherlock was the most brilliant thing John had ever seen. He found himself hoarding the time they spent together, marvelling at Sherlock’s quicksilver mind and magnificent nature. And over time, he came to treasure Sherlock like any other dragon would treasure gold and silver and precious jewels.

People thought John was an idiot for the way he regarded Sherlock. But that was fine. All it meant was that no one was likely to try and steal him. John had to share Sherlock with Mycroft, of course, but dragons understood the importance of blood-kin better than anyone. John might be a clanless dragon, living under the authority of no queen, but he still knew than family were important.

John was fairly certain that Sherlock hadn’t worked out that he was a dragon; he would have said something, surely. But John was fine with being underestimated. He didn’t know how Sherlock would react to discovering his flatmate was a dragon, and besides, John had kept his status a secret his entire life, not wanting the fear and attention that it would bring.

If it had been up to John, he would have continued to keep the fact that he was a dragon a secret. But at the end of one case, he couldn’t hide it any longer.

They were standing outside, on the footpath outside the victim's house, her husband and daughter standing in the open doorway. Sherlock had just announced the murderer (the woman's husband), and Lestrade and Donovan were moving towards the man when he pulled out a knife, and with a yell of fury, threw himself at Sherlock. And Sherlock, who had been turning away at the time, was in no position to dodge the strike or otherwise defend himself.

John was aware of a instant’s rage, deep and hot and burning like fire; then his wings were unfolding from his back and the world turned small beneath him as he rose up and up, shining golden and bright.

John glared at the stricken murderer, who was staring up at John in frozen horror, and hissed, “ _You don’t get to touch him.”_

His words came out as a sibilant bellow, deep and hollow and full of strange inhuman harmonies.

John knew that he’d just outed himself, exposed himself for the world to see, but he didn’t care. _No one_ harmed Sherlock Holmes. _No one._

Satisfied that the killer’s attack on Sherlock had been halted and the man wasn’t going to do anything stupid, John craned his neck around to look at Sherlock, to see how he was taking this revelation.

Sherlock was staring at him in wonder, disbelief and awe vying for supremacy, as he took in the entirety of John’s massive draconic form.

“Jesus Christ,” Lestrade breathed faintly, from behind the car where he and the other Yarders had instinctively taken shelter.

Sherlock just stared for another moment, and then said, “Ah. The scorch marks in your room.”

John snorted, a loud rumble of amusement deep in his chest. A thin trail of smoke rose from his nostrils as the exhalation stirred the flames in his gullet to life.

“Really?” he asked. “That’s what you focus on?”

He gave Sherlock a playful nudge with his snout, almost knocking the man off his feet, and had the satisfaction of seeing Sherlock look startled.

John let himself shrink down, folding back in on himself until he was tiny and human-shaped again, just an ordinary human among other humans. He grimaced a little as his wings melted into the space either side of his spine, feeling their absence as keenly as ever.

The Scotland Yard team was gaping at him, so John gave them a thin, harmless little smile.

“What,” he said, “you’ve never seen a dragon before?” And then he smiled again – not his usual thin-lipped, closed-mouth smile, but a wide, toothy grin, sharp and almost snakelike.

Still smiling like a dragon, he turned to the killer, who recoiled.

“I’ll come quietly!” he blurted. “Just don’t eat me!”

John glanced at the Yard team, raising an eyebrow.

“Shouldn’t you be arresting him?” he asked pointedly.

Lestrade pulled himself together first.

“Right – Donovan, cuff him,” he told the sergeant, his voice commendably even considering the shock he’d just experienced. Donovan came forward, looking far paler than usual.

As they handcuffed the murderer John turned to Sherlock, sticking his hands in his pockets and smiling his pleasant human smile.

“Shall we go?”

Sherlock gave him a long look, and nodded. They left the Yarders to it and flagged down a cab in silence. It was only when they were comfortable ensconced that Sherlock spoke his mind.

“You’re a dragon. Why didn’t you tell me?”

John shrugged, and let his mouth curve in amusement.

“How was I supposed to know you hadn’t figured it out? You deduce everything else.”

Sherlock glared at him, a disgruntled look of _‘I know you’re lying to me.’_ So John shrugged again, and leaned back against the seat, thinking about his answer.

“It’s not something I tell anyone, really,” he said reflectively. “I pass for human easily enough, and, well, people make such a fuss about dragons, don’t they? So I learnt to hide what I was.” John paused, and grinned impishly. “Besides, there’s nothing more disarming than discovering that the mild-mannered doctor you were arguing with is actually a dragon.”

The cabbie glanced in his rear-view mirror with a mixture of nervousness and curiosity.

“You were _gold_ ,” said Sherlock, in the irritated tone he always used when something didn’t add up for him. “Only queen dragons are gold.”

John felt his lips quirk in a smile.

“Not quite,” he disagreed mildly. “Sometimes queen dragons have male offspring capable of fathering queens, who reject clans and prefer to live apart from other dragons. They’re always gold. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Sherlock gave John a measuring, assessing look.

“But your mother wasn’t a queen,” he said, disguising his uncertainty well, but John heard the faint question in his voice.

“That’s right. I’m ah, a bit of a throwback. No dragons in my immediate family, but…” John shrugged, as if to say _‘here I am.’_ “My great-grandmother was a queen dragon, and my second cousin’s the queen of the Pen Draig clan.”

Sherlock looked a little shaken to hear that John was related to the most powerful dragon clan in Europe. The Pendragons might no longer hold the British throne, but they were still a force to be reckoned with.

Sherlock gave John a sideways glance, and John sighed.

“Out with it.”

“You don’t like to live with other dragons, but you don’t mind living with humans,” Sherlock suggested.

“Well.” John thought about that. “I suppose. I don’t like living with humans that much, either, but I’m used to it.” It was a territory thing; John didn’t like sharing his territory, but he was resigned to the fact that humans didn’t understand and respect territorial boundaries the way that dragons did.

Sherlock tilted his head.

“Yet you enjoy living with me. Why?”

John felt himself turn slightly pink, but answered anyway. To anyone socialised human, as John had been, the question was embarrassing, but John wasn’t about to lie.

“I’m hoarding you.”

“You’re what?” Sherlock looked startled.

John felt himself redden further, but lifted his chin and met Sherlock’s gaze defiantly. He was a _dragon,_ for heaven’s sake. Hoarding was what dragons did, even if they didn’t usually hoard people.

“You heard me. I’m not going to say it again.”

“You’re hoarding me. Like treasure,” Sherlock said.

“That’s right,” John agreed. Sherlock stared at him.

“I’m a dragon’s hoard,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

John grinned at him, the wide toothy grin. Sherlock grinned back, like he usually did, and John knew that they were okay.

“You should be,” he confirmed, still grinning. “Not every day a human’s considered valuable enough to be treasure, you know.”

In spite of his efforts not to, Sherlock looked pleased.

“So you can stop trying to drive away my girlfriends,” John added. “Honestly, Sherlock. They’re not a threat. When was the last time you heard of a dragon who let themselves be separated from their hoard?”

“You’re not a typical dragon,” Sherlock pointed out.

“I am where it counts. And trust me, I’m not letting you go if I can help it. You’re stuck with me.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but his little smile was answer enough.

“I wonder if Mycroft’s worked out what I am?” John mused, after a moment.

Sherlock’s face brightened in a smirk of anticipation.

“Let’s find out.”

 

 


End file.
